


Technicolor Dream

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Drag Queens, Genderqueer Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Monster of the Week, NSFW Art, Sam Winchester in Panties, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: There was something killing drag queens in The Big Easy and, while they weren’t able to save the latest victim, she did her best to save them. They finally knew what they were looking for – an incubus – and had a plan. Someone had to go undercover, and Sam seemed unusually eager to play bait. Dean found himself in his worst nightmare – and his most fevered dream. New Orleans gleamed in the sticky heat and Sam – Sam was beautiful.The Winchesters knew exactly how dangerous their current foe could be, but they never counted on how deadly they could be to each other. Dean lost Sam in the color and noise and decadence of the heart of Louisiana, but nothing could keep them apart for long – even after Sam himself seemed determined to leave after his ordeal.Secrets are thick in the stifling heat of New Orleans, but sometimes, the best kept secrets can destroy you. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is simply tell the truth – no matter how terrifying that can be.





	1. Chapter 1

Written for the Wincest Big Bang. A trillion thanks to my amazing artist [Emmatheslayer](https://emmatheslayer.livejournal.com/540540.html) for her amazing and HOT art! Working with her is always a huge treat and I'm always excited when I get to work with her. Also, thanks to my brilliant editor who takes the time to sort out my nonsense!

Summary: There was something killing drag queens in The Big Easy and, while they weren’t able to save the latest victim, she did her best to save them. They finally knew what they were looking for – an incubus – and had a plan. Someone had to go undercover, and Sam seemed unusually eager to play bait. Dean found himself in his worst nightmare – and his most fevered dream. New Orleans gleamed in the sticky heat and Sam – Sam was beautiful.

The Winchesters knew exactly how dangerous their current foe could be, but they never counted on how deadly they could be to each other. Dean lost Sam in the color and noise and decadence of the heart of Louisiana, but nothing could keep them apart for long – even after Sam himself seemed determined to leave after his ordeal.

Secrets are thick in the stifling heat of New Orleans, but sometimes, the best kept secrets can destroy you. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is simply tell the truth – no matter how terrifying that can be.

 

 

**Technicolor Dream**

Dean knew, in his head, what this hunt meant. Academically speaking, he’d planned it all out – seen it all in technicolor in his head. It was like one of those really awful jokes. An incubus walked into a gay bar looking for a meal. Yeah never mind that joke wasn’t so funny after all.

So, Dean knew all about this hunt. What happened, what would keep happening, what to do to stop it. He knew that they were called here by some of Sam’s old Stanford buddies that, to Dean’s surprise, turned out to not only know the deceased cross dressers, but actually _were_ cross dressers or drag queens themselves. He never knew Sammy’s friends were so diverse. He probably should have, though.

 _Sammy_. See, there was something else that Dean knew. Knew him like the back of his hand or the engine of his Impala - now that he was back from Stanford. He knew him when he was a baby, a child, a teen – the smell of his breath puffing against Dean's cheek as he slept, the way his ridiculous hair would mat on one side and curl on the other, the blush that he seemed to wear permanently the whole year he turned 14. He knew him.

Then he lost him. Opened his hands and just… let him go. He didn't know a thing about the Stanford Sam. Didn't even try to learn. That Sammy was so removed from him; he largely ignored anything had even changed. He was so afraid he'd never get to know him again, so he just pretended he was the same old Sammy that had just stepped out for a bit and was coming right back.

It took him almost four years to make it, but Sammy came back.

This Sammy, though, he knew again. Knew the dreams that made Sam whimper in the middle of the night. Knew what face the Devil had in Sam's hallucinations when he wasn’t wearing Dean's. Knew everything but the darkness in Sam's eyes when he looked too long at Dean every now and again.

He was reluctant at first to take the hunt. Too afraid Sam would realize what he was missing and leave again. Afraid he would learn things about Sam’s life he never wanted to know. Like exactly how much he loved it and how close to never getting him back Dean had really been.

And so far he was right and he was wrong. He learned things he never knew about Sammy, that’s a fact, but as he watched the men surrounding his brother, he couldn’t help but wonder what else he’d missed.

The Queens are happy to see Sam there was no question about that, but it sat lightly on their skin. Too many people had died for it to be anything more than a slightly less solemn occasion. Dean stayed back because he had no more place here than he had in California. He could almost feel the chasm opening back up between him and Sammy, deep and wide and full of the neon glare of New Orleans, garish and bold even in the severe lights of midday.

“Dean, come here. Guys, this is my brother, Dean.”

“Definitely him,” one of the Queens nodded.

Dean cocked his head but didn’t comment. He knew Sam would fill him in if it was important.

“I don’t know...” Sam started but another Queen interrupted.

“The killer has never gone after my type,” he said, out of makeup but still Texas prom queen pretty in the harshest of light.

“I still think I...”

“You’re pretty, honey, but you’re not _his_ pretty. Besides, he looks like Peaches’ things would fit him perfectly.”

Dean straightened up in offense for a second. He was a manly, butch man, goddammit. Soon enough though he settled back down. Damn his parents for his freckles, mouth and pretty eyes.

Sam turned to him hesitantly. “Dean, they think it’s best if you take the first bit undercover.”

“Sure,” he said. He could do this. What’s a little makeup and a dress to the big bad hunter?

**

Things were fine. If you ignored Sam screaming at Dean in the middle of a strange man’s living room, of course. Just fine.

“What were you thinking, Dean?” Sam raged.

“I was thinking that there’s not a chance in hell that I’m shoving my own cock up my ass, that’s what I was thinking,” Dean commented mildly.

Sam sputtered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing on what had to be a scathing retort. “You pulled a knife on Marcus,” Sammy finally said, very very quietly.

“I did not.”

“He said you did.”

“I was moving it, Sam, so I could put on these godforsaken pantyhose,” Dean said, his voice rising for the first time since all of this happened.

“Look, Dean, tucking is very important, okay?”

“I don’t think so, Sammy.”

“You agreed to take this case, Dean.”

“Yes, Sam, I agreed to take the case. I did not agree to wear a corset and tape my cock down between my legs!” Dean strode up to Sam, screaming now too.

“Look,” Sam started.

“No, you look! I’m here, aren’t I? I’m helping your friends, aren’t I? I’m in a goddamn dress, aren’t I?” Dean had Sam backed up against the wall by the time he was done talking. “Aren’t I?”

Sam nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

“Then back the fuck off,” he snarled, the pointed around at the Queens in various stages of dress that weren’t even pretending not to stare, “and that includes all of you!” Dean whirled around, stopping only to tug his boots on over his hose and then stomped outside.

“Goddamn,” one of the Queens breathed. “He’s hot as fire. Too bad he’s such a dick.”

Sam barked a laugh then headed out to find Dean.

**

Dean could tell the moment they walked into the bar that whatever they were after was there. He’d been hunting long enough to feel and smell when things weren’t right. The club was full, and Dean could feel the music pounding up through the entirely too thin soles of his high heeled shoes, shimmying up his almost bare legs and settling into his thrumming heart.

He took in everything at a glance. He’d done this long enough that he needed no more than a moment to register everything he needed to know. The air was thick and cloying with the smell of sweat and cologne and sex. More than one person was giving him a look but Dean paid no attention. He was used to looks like that from men and from women.

He’d been to more clubs than he’d like to remember, too. He knew the way the air felt – heavy with lust and dense with want and desperation. Something seemed to be hanging over the club – something manic and needy. It slicked over Dean’s tongue as he breathed.

The air in New Orleans was thick with history and sweltering on a good day. Stepping inside was either a blessing or a curse, and here, pushing through the crowd at Oz, it was clearly the latter. Sweat pooled over Dean’s upper lip and his collar bones, under the heavy line of the breast plate he wore under his top.

He stopped abruptly when something shiny caught his eye. Suddenly, Sam was a long hard line against Dean’s back and his head swam as he tried to breathe in quick, shallow pants – anything to keep the unusually dark smell of Sam out of his nose. Piercings. That was all it was. Just the light. Just.

Dean whirled around, his fists planted on Sam’s shoulders as he just….pushed. “Get out of my space, Sammy. For the love of god, step back.”

It was a mistake. Dean fixated on the strands of Sam’s sweat soaked hair that were stuck to his cheeks and his throat. He could see the pupils of Sam’s eyes were blown wide and had no doubt his were the same. Lust, oily and unwanted, shivered through Dean and he nearly punched Sam square in the face when he licked his lips, slow and wet and entirely too seductively.

Dean shook his head, a vicious movement that nearly unseated his hateful, ten pound wig, but it did nothing to stop the tingling in his fingers and the chubbing of his cock under his skirt. He’d compromised for tight underwear and hose instead of tucking and he thanked god for that for so many reasons right now.

“Sam, we need to get out of here,” he said, voice like a stretch of gravel road but too low to hear beneath the music and all the talking. He grabbed Sam’s arm to get his attention, and suddenly his fingers were on fire with the need to move, to slide over Sam’s sweaty skin. He threw himself backwards, and that drew Sam’s attention.

“Something is here,” Sam croaked, and Dean cursed him up and down, knowing Sam had always been good at reading lips. Sam stepped toward him then, a look in his eye that Dean remembered seeing on a lot of his lovers and he turned and fled through the crowd.

He stepped outside, the air just as heavy here, but cleaner, god so much cleaner. His head stopped swimming and he crouched down for a moment out of sight. He had to go back in there.

He could hear the door clang open and the heavy tread of someone coming closer.

“Hey sexy. I saw you come out here. You okay?”

“Fuck off, buddy. I’m fine.”

“Hey, that’s no way for a pretty lady to talk.”

Dean had had enough. Standing at his full height, he snarled and grabbed a hand full of cock. “Do I look like a lady to you?”

The guy threw his hands up, “I’m sorry. I thought...”

“I know what you thought. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. If you want a freak, you’re going to have to...”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cut like a whip through the air in front of Dean, and that was it. Dean ran his hands viciously over his face and through his hair.

When he looked up the man in front of him had the nerve to look at _Dean_ like he was the freak, or worse, like some bug that had just crawled across the tip of his shoe. And Dean was done. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he growled and stomped off to the Impala. With no word to Sam, he was gone.

**

Sam came back to the room sometime the next morning. The only time he deigned to speak to Dean, it was to tell him about the drag queen that died not long after Dean left. He’d detailed for Dean how much pain she’d been in. How she’d barely held on long enough to tell Sam what had happened.

Sam was brisk and distant as he told Dean how the Queen couldn’t describe what the attacker looked like because he “kept changing” and she couldn’t get a good look, what with her dying and all. Clearly with that information and the atmosphere in the club, it could be nothing else but an incubus.

Dean was silent through it all. He would have taken anything Sam had thrown at him. He deserved it. He’d done a lot of thinking after he’d calmed down. He’d love to blame it on stress and the creature’s effect on the club, but that wasn’t the case.

Dean Winchester was a homophobe.

He’d decided that right around the time dawn was breaking through the dirty window of the motel room and was harder to swallow than the shitty booze he’d bought on the way back to the room. He flexed his fist as he listened quietly to Sam talk to him like a stranger.

There had been some people at the liquor store that clearly and vocally hadn’t liked his dress. Dean took offense. Generally, only a good fuck or a good fight settled him when he was like this. One wasn’t available, and the other was right in front of him. He set the liquor gently in the floorboard of Baby and grinned.

It hadn’t worked this time. Booze didn’t either.

Dean was a man of simple pleasures. Always had been. He drank when he wanted, ate when he wanted, fucked when he wanted. He sat in the hard motel room chair, one hand curled over his aching lip and wondered. How long had he really felt like that? Always, he decided.

The thinner the night got and the longer he was without Sam, the more morose he got. Dean wasn’t shy about fucking men, that wasn’t the issue. When the night got too dark and the women didn’t do it for him, he hadn’t hesitated to turn to men. He wasn’t picky, really, just someone attractive, strong and willing.

 _Strong_ he clarified to himself was simply a polite way of saying not girly. He closed his eyes and drank the last of the alcohol, picturing Sam’s drag queen friends. Some of them were stronger and more built than either he or Sam, and at least two of them were actually taller than Sam before they put their heels on. They weren’t weak, simpering things like he’d expected them to be. Hell, even the one that was pretty as a girl didn’t act weak like one.

Then he thought about Ellen and Jody and added to it. Dean Winchester was a homophobe and a misogynist. Great.

He didn’t know what to do or think. It was a jarring realization when you found out you really were a dick like everyone said. Dean threw the bottles away and lay on his bed, pretending to sleep until Sam came in and started talking to him.

“Go back to bed,” Sam sneered. “I bet from the trashcan over there that you’re probably hung over, anyway. I’m going to do some research. I’ll wake you up before I leave for the club.”

Dean simply nodded and obeyed, sleep washing over him before he realized it.

**

When he woke up, the bathroom door was slightly ajar and from the noises inside and the water in the sink turning on and off, Sam was probably getting ready to head to the club. Dean had to pee something fierce, so he pushed open the door and headed to the toilet without looking at Sam first.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Sam squawked. “Couldn’t you have knocked? I’d have left long enough for you to use the bathroom.”

Dean didn’t answer, just finished and flushed the toilet. It was only then that he turned to look at Sam. Sam was...purple was the only way he could really describe him. His long dark hair had been colored a dark, vibrant purple, and a lighter shade covered Sam’s high forehead all the way down to his dimples and the tip of his nose.

“Sam,” Dean croaked, staring as Sam drew thin white lines arcing over and under his heavily lined eyes. Tiny gems sparkled on his face and Dean watched fascinated as Sam drew patterns and swirls across his skin. Sam had always liked drawing – even when he was a child, and Dean could see how much better he’d gotten in the beautiful lines spreading across his brother’s face.

Sam was finally finished with the final touches to the inside corners of his eyes when dean noticed it – Sam had bright blue eyes. It was startling but it was beautiful. Some kind of pencil and lipstick on his mouth, and Sam left the bathroom without a word to Dean.

Dean washed up and stepped out of the bathroom in time to see Sam dressing in a suit. It wasn’t like their fake FBI suits at all, though. Sam has his breast plate on, for one, and the shirt and jacket looked soft, silky and unstructured. The pant legs were wide and flowing and completely covered the sky high heeled boots Sam slipped on. His legs looked two miles long and for one insane moment, all Dean wanted was to touch.

Shaking it off, he stepped toward Sam who backed away.

“You walk awfully good in those heels, Sammy,” Dean tried to joke. He could tell from the look on Sam’s face he failed.

“Yeah,” he nearly snarled, “I guess I always was a freak.” He checked his phone and picked up a soft purple clutch. “My cab is here. Come later when you get cleaned up and act like we’re not together. The incubus might have seen you last night.”

Dean waited long enough for Sam to have left and punched the wall as hard as he could. _What the fuck, Dean_ , he thought. _What the fuck._

 

 

Dean dressed for the club – his best jeans and his tightest t-shirt. When he got there, he could feel the sweat start the minute he walked in the door. It felt like it did the night before, but residual some how, the need lighter, the smell of sex and lust not as thick in the air.

Dean glanced at his watch. Sam had been here for an hour and a half. What if the incubus had been and gone? He began to search for Sam, but didn’t see him. Sam was already taller than most people, but in the heels he’d put on before he left? He would have towered over all but a few in the club and no matter how hard Dean looked, he couldn’t spot him.

He was starting to panic when he saw a few of Sam’s friends near the bar. He pushed his way through the writhing crowd on the dance floor and took off after them. “Have you seen Sam?” he yelled over the din.

“Oh look, ladies, it’s the dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me. Where’s Sam?”

Sam’s friend, Tinks he thought might be her name, scoffed. “Samantha,” she drawled looking to needle him, “is trying to find whatever is killing us. You know, like you were supposed to do last night before you ran off like the asshole you are?”

“Look, you can be high and mighty after I find Sammy, okay? Where is he?” He repeated.

“Last I saw him he was over there,” she pointed. “Looks like he’s gone. Probably in the bathroom. I’ll check.” Dean stopped her, subtly checking his gun and the angel blade tucked in his boots.

“You stay here,” he ordered. “If you see Sam, tell him I’m looking for him. Otherwise, stay here and stay together.”

 

 

Sam wasn’t in the bathroom. He wasn’t in any of the corners and he wasn’t in the crowd. Dean cursed and checked with the drag queens at the bar before turning and running outside when they hadn’t seen him. He huffed a quick breath at the door and eased it open as quietly as he could.

There was a faint scuffling and a scrape, then nothing. Dean moved as quietly as he could in the direction of the noise but couldn’t stop a hurt whine when he saw Sam on the ground underneath the writhing body of the incubus.

“Don’t fret, pretty,” it hissed. “You’ll enjoy this as much as I will. I mean, then you’ll die, but you’ll love me up until then.” Dean could see Sam’s hand scrabbling weakly against the ground, not too mesmerized to lie completely still, but too under the monster’s power to fight back.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. “Oh, Sammy.” Incubus were weakest while they were feeding and this one apparently decided he wanted to play with Sam some before he finally sucked his soul right out of his body.

“You’re so pretty,” he said. “So like a woman, but still hard and strong like man. You’re just my type.”

Dean could see Sam shudder as the incubus ran his tongue over Sam’s neck and jaw. He was straddling Sam completely now, and it wasn’t until the monster began rolling his body in waves over top of Sam’s body that Dean lost it.

“Get the fuck off him,” Dean growled, the gunshot from his pistol loud and echoing in the night. The incubus had reared back as Dean spoke, opening himself up for a shot right to the head. The shot knocked the creature off of Sam, who seemed to be coming out of the spell as the wounded incubus couldn’t hold on any longer.

Dean kept his gun trained on the monster and checked Sam quickly before he strode over the thing writhing on the ground. Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled the angel blade from his pocket and drove it into the incubus’s heart. With a piercing wail, the incubus died and shriveled to dust.

“Sammy! Are you okay? We’ve got to get out of here. Someone was bound to hear that gunshot.”

“I’m okay. I’m just… I need to clear my head a little,” Sam said, leaning a bit on Dean as he helped him up. "Where’s Baby?”

“She’s just up front in the back of the parking lot. Can you walk on your own?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Dean. Just clearing the rest of that spell or whatever out of my mind.”

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

**

So, the thing was, there had to be some lingering effect of the monster’s spell. Some kind of pheromones still filling the air. It was the only explanation for why Dean, instead of opening Sam’s door for him like he’d intended to, had shoved Sam against Baby instead. He kicked lightly at Sam’s feet, his heeled boots skidding against the pavement as he slid down a bit.

“Dean? What are you...”

Dean cut him off with a kiss. Sam stiffened, his hands going to push Dean back away from him, but Dean held on tight. “Kiss me back, Sam.”

There was something dark and terrible on Sam’s face for a split second, a kind of longing that Dean only recognized because he’d felt it for himself. “Kiss me back, Sammy.”

Dean had been kissed too many times to count. Quick kisses, hidden kisses, hard passionate kisses. All kinds of kisses. Sam kissed like no one else he’d ever encountered. Forceful, deep and lustful with an edge of softness Dean didn’t know what to do with. It didn’t belong in either one of their lives.

Sam pulled back as much as he could, his breath ragged and out of control. His expression equally fierce and shattered. Dean pressed against him again. “Don’t freak out. Get in the car. We’ll be at the motel soon.”

Dean was in too much of a hurry to get back to the motel to turn the radio on, and Sam was a silent deathly still statue in the passenger seat. It was the longest ten minutes he could remember. When they finally got to the room, Sam simply stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Silently, Dean led him to the bed and pushed him down. Sam sat without a word. Dean slipped Sam’s jacket off and placed it neatly on the other bed, then did the same with Sam’s shirt and his breast plate.

He knelt on the dingy motel carpet and unzipped and removed Sam’s boots. “Love these boots, Sammy. Where did you get them?” Sam didn’t answer.

Dean didn’t stop, just pulled Sam up until he was standing again, the now too long legs of his pants pooled on the worn carpet. “You looked beautiful tonight, Sam.”

Sam would have turned away, but Dean grabbed his shoulders and wouldn’t let him. “Really beautiful, Sammy. Do you get to keep the clothes? They looked amazing.” Dean reached for the fly of Sam’s pants, but Sam grabbed his hand.

“Dean, stop.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, Sammy. Unless,” he stopped, “unless you don’t want this...want me?”

Sam took a deep breath and didn’t respond, just let go of Dean’s hand and gave his hips a gentle roll against it.

Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s fly and made quick work of the button and zipper. As he eased them down, he drew in a shocked breath. He could feel Sam stiffen in front of him, his hands coming up as if to shield himself.

Sam was wearing panties. Beautiful, sheer cream colored panties with lace and pink trim. Reverently, he traced his fingertips over the silky material, the shadow of Sam’s hardening cock clearly visible through the almost sheer material.

“Dean,” Sam choked out, but Dean cut him off before he could finish what he was saying.

“You’re so perfect Sam. So pretty and such a gorgeous cock. So long and thick. Perfect, just like you. I want to suck you, Sam. Can I?”

Sam could only moan.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dean dragged his lips over Sam’s panties and lightly set his teeth to Sam’s cock through the thin material. “So sexy, Sammy,” he whispered. “So sexy for me.”

Dean sucked cock like he did everything else – thoroughly. His mouth was warm and this tongue was strong. It wasn’t that long before Sam was pushing him away. “Stop. Dean stop. I’m going to come.”

“You don’t want to come?”

“Not right now. Not like this.”

“Then when, Sammy? Hmm?”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Fuck me, Dean.”

“Your wish is my command, Sammy.” Sam shook at the thought. Dean pushed Sam back onto the bed and then shifted his focus from Sam’s cock to his hole. “Stay right like this, sweetheart,” Dean ordered, rubbing the pad of his finger over Sam’s hole. Dean opened his duffel and fumbled around until he found lube and a condom. Sam hadn’t moved. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Dean said, putting his hand on Sam’s hip. “Roll over for me.”

Sam did, burying his face in the pillow underneath his head. Dean took some of the lube and drizzled it over his fingers and on Sam’s hole. “Here we go, sweetheart,” he said, slipping a slick finger into Sam. “You like that, Sammy? How long has it been? How careful should I be?” Dean asked, stretching and twisting his fingers into Sam. “One more, Sam.”

“Oh, Dean. God.”

“Shhh, one more, Sam.” Dean slipped in the third finger. There it was, the little rough patch that would drive Sam crazy. Dean rubbed lightly then tapped on the spot, causing Sam to stiffen and moan. “Shhh, quiet, sweetheart. The last thing we need is an audience right about now. Motel walls are notoriously thin.”

Sam stuffed his fist in his mouth to help him remain quiet. Dean leaned down and bit lightly at Sam’s ass cheek and pulled his fingers free. “Here we go sweetheart. Get your knees under you.” Dean quickly put on the condom and slicked himself as Sam got to his knees, head down, all of him on beautiful display. “So fucking gorgeous,” Dean groaned and eased his cock into Sam, excruciatingly slowly.

Sam moaned with the pain and pleasure of it, fist again stuffed in his mouth. Dean paused, in as far as he could go, giving Sam a moment before he started a slow and easy rhythm. Sam adjusted quickly and started swaying his hips to match Dean’s ever quickening thrusts. “That’s it, sweetheart. Goddamn, you feel good.” Dean leaned further over Sam’s back, one hand on Sam’s hip and the other braced against the motel wall.

Sam got a little more on his knees, opening his hole a little more to Dean’s pounding. “Oh, fuck yes, sweetheart. That’s it.” Dean’s voice was a harsh whisper above Sam’s head, the depth and gravel of his tone driving Sam to push the fist deeper into his mouth. It wasn’t long until Dean’s long hard strokes got to him and he had to remove that hand and wrap it around his dick.

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” he whispered as Dean scraped across his prostate yet again. Sam began to shake as he jacked himself, so close to coming. Dean suddenly stopped thrusting, his cock seated fully inside Sam. 

“Don’t stop, Sam.” Dean ground out. “Keep going. Come, sweetheart, come for me. Now.”

It was all Sam needed, and he filled his hand and the sheets underneath him. For a moment, their harsh breathing was the only sound in the room as Dean basked in the feel of Sam’s hole clutching at his cock as he worked through his orgasm.

“Oh, yes baby boy,” Dean said, continuing thrusting before Sam’s jerking aftershocks were even done. “That’s right sweetheart.” With his own orgasm done, Sam concentrated on the sound of Dean fucking him. Their legs slapping together, sweaty skin sticking, the squelch of lube, and their moaning, hitching breaths.

He could feel his cock stir but it was just too soon for him to get hard again, even if he wanted to. “So close, sweetheart, so fucking close. God, the way you sound. The way you feel around me. Fuck, baby, yeah.”

“Dean. Dean.” Sam panted in rhythm with Dean pounding his ass. “Come, Dean.”

Dean moaned and stiffened, and Sam could feel Dean’s hand clamp even more tightly around Sam’s hip as he came, the hand on the wall fisting in place. Breathing heavily, Dean dropped his hand from the wall and his head to Sam’s back.

Slowly, he slid out of Sam, removed the condom and fell to his back beside Sam. Sam straightened his legs and grimaced slightly at the wet spot he was lying in. Blindly, he reached a hand to Dean’s sweaty stomach.

Groaning, Dean swung himself to the side of the bed and stood, swaying slightly. Tossing the condom in the trash, he went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth and grabbed a towel. Sam stirred as Dean cleaned the lube from Sam’s ass and the sweat from his back. “Roll over, sweetheart. I need to clean you up.”

Sluggishly, Sam rolled over and lay still and lethargic as Dean cleaned the come and sweat from his chest, stomach and pubic area. He ran the cloth over the sheets and tucked a towel over the wet spot. “Get some sleep, Sammy. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Sam just grunted and moved back where he was. Dean snorted and threw the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom. Tugging the covers over Sam, Dean settled himself on his side. “Good night, sweetheart.”

**

Dean woke him as he kissed his way down Sam's chest, barely touching Sam with anything but his lips and tongue and teeth once he was finally awake. Sam writhed impatiently, worn thin motel sheets clinging to and releasing his sweat damp skin. The snick of the lube bottle was the last thing Sam needed to be fully awake.

Well, that and the wet slide of Dean's mouth over Sam's quickly filling cock. His fingers drifted from playing with Sam's balls to pressing against the taught skin underneath, scratching lightly over the seam between Sam's legs.

Sam was shifting – moaning at the push of flesh and the sudden press of Dean's fingers into his ass.

“Still ready for me, Sam? Still wet and open?"

Sam could only moan Dean’s name and spread his legs a little farther.

Dean reached for a condom, then slicked his cock. Sam held his breath as Dean pushed inside then kept it when Dean paused. "Sam. Breathe." As Sam began to breathe, his body adjusted almost immediately, and soon Dean was sliding in and out of him in a rhythm designed purely to drive Sam mad.

Sam tossed his head and wordlessly tried to force Dean to a quicker, harder pace but Dean merely sat back on his heels and used his hold on Sam's hips to slide him up onto Dean's legs and into his lap.

The angle had Dean nailing Sam's prostate dead on every second or third stroke, and gave Sam more leverage and control. Feet flat on the mattress, Sam pushed up or dropped back, meeting or dodging Dean's every stroke as he felt like.

Dean watched Sam carefully, and when his hip movements became shorter and more erratic, Dean wrapped a hand around Sam's cock, squeezing hard at the base, then stroking all the way to the top as he drove hard into Sam's ass.

Dean could see the orgasm in the flicker of Sam's eyes as it built and kept his fingers a hard ring around the base of Sam's cock – keeping him hard and trapped and Dean's just a little longer. Sam arched off the bed, head back, neck straining, mouth opening around a scream he had no breath for, no sound.

Dean increased his pace, rising off his heels and pushing Sam off his lap. Directly above him now, Dean fucked him harder and faster, squeezing Sam's cock even tighter, until he could feel the need to come crackling in the air around him.

Loosening his hold on Sam's cock, Dean jacked him hard and fast until Sam was shuddering. Right before he thought Sam was ready to come, Dean pulled his hand away, then pressed his body tight to Sam's trapping Sam's dick between them. Dean could feel Sam's cock sliding against his abdomen and the way Sam's muscles clenched tighter and tighter the closer his orgasm came. Hooking his elbows over Sam's shoulders, Dean pushed impossibly deep into Sam, then whispered, "Come for me, Sam. Now."

The short, hard strokes and the weight of Dean's body pressing Sam's cock and the friction of their slick sweaty skin were all it took to send Sam over the edge. Since he woke, he was aware of nothing but the slide and drag of his own skin pulled tight then loosening against his stomach, Dean's stomach, and his own hard cock as Dean fucked him.

When Dean felt Sam's pooling come, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his own orgasm, then filled the condom a handful of strokes later. Pulling his knees up a bit, he propped himself up on his elbows and knees, and spent a moment watching Sam as he felt his cock slowly soften inside him.

Dipping his head, Dean kissed Sam softly.

Sam watched him carefully as Dean slid out of him and disposed of the condom. Dean merely smiled at Sam, brushing the sweaty bangs off his face and neck. "Be right back, Sammy." He was back in a moment, chest, hips and cock glistening with fresh clean water instead of sweat. He handed Sam a bottle of water and started to gently clean the sweat and come from his body.

Sam lazily drank the water, gasping at the cold then settled, legs and arms spread so that no matter where Dean settled to sleep, he'd be touching Sam. Dean made one last check of the salt lines in the room, gazed at the Impala, and strode back to Sam. Sliding between the sheets, he manhandled Sam onto his side and encouraged him to curl against him. In moments, Sam was asleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Guess what happens when you don't pay attention? You end up not posting your whole story! *facedesk*
> 
> So here's the rest of it! Hopefully it seems a bit more finished now. smh  
> Thanks to everyone that read it before it was complete!!!

Dean woke up to a cold bed and a note on the table. He flung his arm over his eyes and contemplated not getting out of bed. If he never read the note, then there would be no problem, right?

If he got up, he’d have to read the note and a dark hum in the back of his mind was telling him that was something he did not want to do. Dean closed his eyes tight and rolled over on his side, willing himself to go back to sleep. Ten minutes later, he finally jumped out of bed and stormed over to the table.

He snatched up the note, unfolded it quickly and… oh. Sammy was with Marcus for the day. There was no mention of what had happened between them. Dean wasn’t sure if he was upset by that or not.

Balling up the note, he tossed it in the trash and contemplated how to spend his day. More sleep? Breakfast? Stalking Sam?

Shower. Definitely a shower, he decided. He’d worry about the rest later.

*

Dean made it about an hour before he got restless. He stopped by a diner for some lunch then decided to drive around New Orleans and see what all the fuss was about. And by ‘see what all the fuss was about’ what he really meant was ‘see the scenery between where he was and Marcus’ house’.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t think anyone would blame him for wanting to see his brother, especially after last night. He felt nervous for the first time in a long time as he got out of the car, but he didn’t think he could be blamed for that, either.

“So you’ve turned stalker now?” Marcus asked the second he opened the door.

“Apparently so.”

“Well, it was a wasted trip. Sam isn’t here.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

“I do. And before you ask, no, I’m not telling you.”

“Look, I get it, okay. I’m a dick. An ass. A real piece of work. Whatever you want to call me, I’ll let you. But I need to know where Sam is.”

“He and Jackie are shopping. He’s safe. Just leave it alone, okay?”

“When will they be back?”

“When they’re done.”

“Was he...” Dean swallowed heavily and then continued. “Was he alright?”

Marcus didn’t soften his stance but his eyes flickered for just a second. “He’s got a lot going on right now, you know?” He studied Dean for a moment. “It’s not all about you, though. It’s everything. He’ll work it out.” Marcus caved then and reached for Dean, his hand heavy on Dean’s shoulder. “He’ll figure it all out, Dean. He’ll be fine.”

“I know he will,” Dean nodded, mostly to himself. “Well, I’m gonna sight see some. See what makes the Big Easy so easy.” Dean smiled tightly at Marcus and started back to the car.

“I asked him to stay,” Marcus called after him. “I just want that out there so you don’t think I’m going behind your back.”

Dean stiffened when he heard that, fear a solid lump in the pit of his stomach.

“He didn’t say no.”

Dean closed his eyes. “But he didn’t say yes?”

“Not yet, no.”

Dean just nodded and got in Baby, clenching his hands around the steering wheel for a moment before starting her and driving away.

**

Sam called him and let him know both that he knew Dean had come by Marcus’ and that he would be home late that night and they would talk in the morning. There was a blank moment and then he told Dean he would be at Oz tonight and Dean was welcome to stop by. There was a silence so long after that that Dean had checked his phone to see if the call had been disconnected, then Sam promised they were fine and that they’d talk soon.

It was a lie. Dean could count the number of in depth discussions they’d had about feelings on both his hands and still have fingers left over. But Sam said they were fine and Dean was going to hold him to his word.

He promised to see him at Oz and hung up. He had some shopping of his own to do.

*

When the salesperson asked him what occasion he was shopping for, ‘trying to impress my sometimes drag queen brother that I just had incestuous sex with so he’d let me have more of the sex’ seemed like both the best and worst answer. In the end, he settled on answering ‘a date and drag show’. He was in and out in half an hour then headed back to the motel.

**

Here’s the thing. Sam knew his brother like the back of his hand – the stalwart protector, the blunt instrument, the implacable hero, and now the fierce lover. He expected his brother at his butchest – firmly protected in his masculinity. What he got was anything but.

Dean carefully smoothed his new shirt and his hair and stepped into Oz. He spotted Sammy just a few minutes after and he spent a moment just watching him. Sam was in a dress this time – bright and bold and exaggerated – his makeup the same. He looked seven feet tall in his shiny heels.

Dean headed to the bar, catching the bartender’s eye and tapping on the surface for a beer. The bartender was young, shirtless and clearly a more feminine man. Dean smiled at him when he brought his beer, and the man seemed taken back at first but then winked in return and let his fingers trail over Dean’s hand.

He nodded and turned to watch the rest of the drag show and drink his beer. Sam wasn’t really participating in the actual show. There hadn’t been time for him to learn some of the more complicated choreography and they found out pretty quickly that he couldn’t lipsync any of the songs in the routine.

Dean leaned back against the bar and fended off admirers. He looked up several times to find Sam studying him intently. He smiled and gestured to Sam but he didn’t seem to be easing up any.

It wasn’t until another man came up and ran his fingers up Dean’s inseam that he figured out that Sam was jealous. Smiling to himself, Dean quickly removed the guy’s hand and brushed him off. He quickly did the same to anyone else that approached him.

Once the show was over, Sam quickly worked his way through the crowd, coming up to Dean but stopping just short of his seat. Dean held his breath as Sam’s heavily lashed eyes swept slowly over his body. Would Sam like what he tried to do?

It was no secret to anyone that Dean loved the ladies. He was overtly masculine and had never been shy about showing appreciation for a beautiful woman – sometimes whether she wanted it or not. He took rejection well and simply moved right on to the next person, though, so there was that. No harm, no foul. Hop in Baby and keep on moving.

His attraction to the “rougher” of the sexes, though, now that was somewhat of a surprise to most people that knew him – his brother included. He could still remember Sam’s face when they ran into each other – Sam coming home, Dean leaving – in one of the many crappy motels they’d made their own for the space of a hunt.

The hickeys on Dean’s neck and the missing button on the other man’s shirt hadn’t left the reason for them being in the motel room any kind of secret. Sam had been shocked once he figured it out, mouth and eyes wide before he caught himself and clamped his jaws shut. Dean had taken his impressive bitchface as complaint at the stench of sex still hanging in the air, but now that he thought about it, that hateful, narrow look could have easily been jealousy.

He thought back to all the times he’d caught looks he couldn’t recognize on Sam’s face and wondered how much of it had been longing, want or jealousy. He was an idiot. A blind fool. But no longer.

Dean had dressed one of two ways his entire life – jeans or disguises. The outfit he’d just bought though was the most different thing he’d ever worn for a reason that had nothing to do with hunting. He watched apprehensively as Sam’s eyes slid over his flattened and side-parted hair, his subtly patterned shirt in pinks and blues and the lightest yellow he’d ever seen, and pleated trousers that ended way too high on his ankle and that Dean would have sworn would look ridiculous with the rest of his outfit.

Dean had never actually used the word outfit before now, not even in his head, and if a man that looked like him had hit on him, Dean would more than likely call him a dandy in his head and politely turned him down.

Sam reached out, idly fingering the rolled up sleeves of his short sleeved shirt. “Tassled loafer, huh?”

“No socks!” Dean emphasized. The sales clerk had been very clear about how to roll his sleeves and that there were never to be any socks. Ever. Well, apparently he could wear socks that didn’t show, but he’d already spent enough money and it was only for one night anyway.

“What’s this about, Dean?”

“I’m just,” Dean paused for a moment. “I’m just trying to broaden my horizons,” he finished. “To realize you can wear pastels and still be a man.”

“And you think one night in fashionable pants will do that?”

“No, but I wanted you to see, Sammy. To have proof that I’m trying.”

“It matters that much to you?”

“I might like you a little.”

“Just a little?”

“Well, you know, you are a pain in my ass.”

“Bypassing the obvious ass joke,” Sam started.

“You’re letting me down here, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam. And look at you being all trendsettery and fashionable. Let’s reach for that with your garbage humor too, what do you say?”

“How dare you. I’m hilarious!”

“I know _you_ think you are.”

“I bet half the guys in this bar would think so too.”

“I bet half the guys in this bar would _pretend_ just to get you to fuck them. There’s a difference, Dean.”

“Yeah well, too bad.” Dean reached out and snagged Sam, dragging him flush against his side. “I’m taken.”

Sam eyed him speculatively. “Oh yeah? Since when?”

“Since about 1983.”

“ _Wow_. Did all those new hair products affect your brain?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re almost, dare I say it, chick flickery.”

“Oh god.” Dean shoved two fingers in his mouth, his thumb flicking down like the trigger of a gun. “Some one kill me. Right now.”

“Dean Winchester, wearing pink and expressing emotion.”

“Alright, let’s not get ridiculous now. No one said anything about emotions!”

Sam laughed and Dean was entranced. His brother was beautiful. His makeup was heavy and his lashes huge and dark. His dress hugged curves Dean could have sworn he didn’t have before today and his smooth muscular legs looked ten feet long.

There was nothing delicate about his body, but there was something fragile about him. Dean didn’t know if it was worry that Dean still wouldn’t accept him like this, or if it was everyone in general, even here in the safest of places. Dean smiled at him and tightened his arm.

“You look amazing, Sammy.”

Sam smiled a little bashfully. “Thanks.”

“Dance with me Sam.”

“Dean, they know you’re my brother, plus I’m not looking to break an ankle dancing in these shoes.”

“So take your shoes off. And siblings dance together all the time.”

Sam looked out over the crowd, bodies roiling and shimmering in waves of sweat and interest and lust. “Not like that they don’t.”

Dean glanced at the nearest couple, a tall beefy man doing his best to shove his tongue down his partners throat as his partner picked at the zipper that was the only thing keeping the guy’s clearly interested cock at bay. “I mean, we are closer than most.”

Sam laughed loudly and then leaned in a little closer, “I want to kiss you so badly right now. We can get away with being this close because of the crowd, but no way I could get away with tongue fucking you right here.”

Crowd? What crowd? Everything had faded for Dean the moment Sam got close. The din of flirting and music and shouted conversation had consolidated into a low, droning hum underwritten by a deep pounding beat that, for as much as the songs changed, stayed solid underneath Dean’s slick soled shoes.

“I’m going to fuck you, Sammy. Just push those panties I know you’re wearing aside and bully my way into you. Can I?”

“Dean,” Sam breathed against Dean’s ear, raising the fine hairs across the back of his neck.

“Tell me you want me, Sam. That it isn’t just me.”

Sam drew back enough to look him in the eye. “I want you,” he said carefully, Dean seeing more than hearing him. He leaned back down. “I want you, Dean. God help me. I do.”

“When do you get off?”

“Not taking that joke, either.”

“Goddammit Sam. Throw me a bone here.” Dean said and raised both eyebrows over a stupid, smirking smile.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright.” He brushed his fingers over Dean’s shoulder and into his hair. “I don’t know _big boy_ , you tell me.”

Dean grinned and squeezed Sam tight. “Yes!”

Sam just shook his head in despair.

**

Sam was putting on lipstick. No, Dean corrected himself. It was gloss – shiny and smooth and clear – clinging to his brother’s mouth and making Dean think of things he shouldn’t want to think about in the sharp light of day. The counter around the sink was covered with tubes and bottles and containers and brushes.

Dean had gone out to gas up Baby and run a few errands on their last day in New Orleans. He’d come back to a quiet room and a moment of panic before he heard Sam moving around in the bathroom.

This wasn’t the same as Sam in drag. Dean knew that much.

Sam in drag was six foot five in four inch heels, vibrant, alive and colorful. That was Sam staring everyone in the face and saying, _this… this is who I choose to be, and I will do it loudly. Anyone got anything to say?_

But this. This was soft and pink and Sam when he was feeling beautiful.

Dean ached with just how beautiful his brother was.

This was broad shoulders and hard muscle dusted with something shimmery. This was a blouse perfectly cut to hide Sam’s scars but show his gorgeous throat. This was jeans that suddenly seemed to be made from a whole different material.

This was something Dean didn’t understand. He knew viscerally what it meant. His brother didn’t hate being a man, not all the time, and he didn’t want to be a woman all the time, either. Some days he was perfume and painted nails and some days flannel and a face full of scruff.

“What do I call you?”

Sam startled, a tiny glass stopper flying from his hands and clattering into the sink. “Dean...”

“When you’re like this,” Dean interrupted. “What do I call you?”

Sam’s hands clenched tight on the counter edge. “You call me Sam,” he said, eyes down and no where near Dean’s reflection.

“No,” Dean said, walking toward Sammy. “No, I mean, do I call you my girl?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Sammy, are you my girl?” Dean’s cock was a hard line down his thigh, and he wanted nothing more than to take Sam’s face in his hands and destroy the hard work his brother had already done, but there were questions he needed answers to, and the first was if Sam was even still his brother on days like this.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this. Not ever.”

 _But you let me, Dean thought. Thank you, Sam._ “I’m glad I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you and I have hidden enough from each other, don’t you think?”

Sam snorted, “Yeah, but none of your secrets had names like Passionate Princess or Tropical Dream.”

“I need to know Sam.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. That has never been more clear to me than this moment right here.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Sam whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I might be stupid, but I don’t need you nearly getting killed to know I can’t live without you.”

“You can’t live without your brother.”

“My brother, my sister, my lover, my partner.” Dean nearly missed Sam’s small flinch at Dean’s words. “Did you think it was some one night thing, Sammy? Some delusional act brought on by the incubus nearly killing you?”

Sam carefully didn’t answer.

“Goddamn you, Sam.”

“I’m not a woman,” Sam said, still not looking at Dean.

“Do you want to be?”

“Some days.”

“And those days are you my girl?”

“I...”

“Just trust me enough to try my best to get it right, Sam.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that cut and dried, Dean.” Sam raised his head, meeting Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “I don’t mean to be difficult...”

“Sammy, being exactly who you are is never being difficult,” Dean cut him off. “I get at least that much crystal clear. I...” Dean paused. “I didn’t even know I was prejudiced, Sam. We never talked about that, you know. The things I said. The way I acted. That night.

“I… God this is hard. I fucked other men but judged any gay man I thought was “too girly” without even thinking about it. The drag thing...” Dean ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “It was fine, you know? Fine for other people. People I didn’t know. People I saw in the street.”

“But not for your own brother.”

“I thought they were lesser men, Sammy. Not as tough as me. Not as strong as me. Just less than me all around because they called themselves Mama and painted their nails or because wearing women’s clothes wasn’t a job to them it was an actual way of life.

“I wouldn’t fuck them and I sure as hell wouldn’t respect them.”

“Why did you change your mind? Just because it was me?” Sam asked.

“Sometimes a wake up call isn’t a phone ringing, Sammy. Sometimes it’s a sledgehammer to the face.”

“But did you _really_ change? Or are you just saying what you know will make me happy?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how long it will take until my first instinct when I see a super feminine man isn’t to call him a pansy in my head. I just don’t know. But I do know that some of the people at Oz could kick my ass in a skirt and heels, so I’ve got some things to rethink.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a pansy? That I’m weak?”

“That’s what made me realize how fucked up I was being. You’ve decapitated a vampire with nothing more than razor wire and your bare hands. You’re a damn good hunter. No one better besides myself. That doesn’t stop because you’re wearing lipstick all of a sudden.”

“It’s not that sudden,” Sam muttered.

“Well, it is to me.”

“If we do this,” Sam started.

“Oh, we’re doing this, Sammy.”

“If we do this,” he said again.

“When, Sammy.”

Sam just rolled his eyes. “For the sake of getting through this, fine. When we do this, you have to understand it’s not as simple as you want it to be.”

“When is anything in our life simple, Sammy?”

“I’m not your girl,” Sam said insistently. “I’m not your baby boy either.”

“Fair enough. Then what...”

“One day I may feel like a man that wants to wear a dress. One moment I might feel like a woman who wants to wear one. You know? Dresses aren’t just women’s clothing for one thing. They’re just clothing. I might be the brother Sam you’ve always known one moment, too. And maybe the next, I might feel like none of those things at all.”

“So I’ll ask?”

“Yeah. Ask. Or I’ll tell you. As for what to call me...”

“I’ll call you Sam.”

“Call me Sam,” Sam agreed.

Dean ran his fingers across Sam’s back and whispered, “And I'll call you sweetheart. And darlin’. And baby. Because you are. Because you have been since you were six months old.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I need to finish, Dean. Just a few last minute touches.”

“You look perfect right now.”

“Then I’ll look even better when I get done.”

Dean just shook his head in exasperation. “Womenmen.”

Sam turned, staring at Dean in horror. “No, Dean. What even...”

“Manwoman?”

“That’s offensive, Dean. And stupid.”

“Your face is stupid.”

“You are _actually_ a twelve year old.”

“I think this says differently,” Dean snarked, grabbing his thick cock through his jeans.

“Exactly what a twelve year old would say.”

Dean pouted. “Put your face on, Sammy. It’s almost one and I’m starving.”

“Are we...” Sam hesitated. “Are we going out?”

“Yeah. I saw a steakhouse on our way to check out the last victim’s house, and I’ve been dying for a nice slab of meat.”

“Dean, I...”

Dean just smiled gently. “Come on, sweetheart. I don’t have all day.”

“In public?”

Dean leaned up and lightly kissed Sam’s mouth. “I’ll be out in Baby.”

Sam stared at himself in the mirror for a moment then quickly finished his makeup and put everything away. He stalled as much as he could, Dean’s music blaring through Baby’s open window and the open doors of the motel and bathroom. Sam smiled as he caught a little of the song.

_You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes_

_well, you just might find you get what you need_

_Yeah_ , Sam nodded to himself as he closed and locked the motel door. _Yeah._

  


 


End file.
